


Damn The Dark, Damn The Light

by superallens



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Depression, Gen, georgie is dead, reference to pennywise, talks of death!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 06:02:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13358049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superallens/pseuds/superallens
Summary: Bill struggles with the aftermath of IT and losing his brother.





	Damn The Dark, Damn The Light

**Author's Note:**

> This work deals with themes of depression, feelings of guilt, thoughts of suicide, etc., so if you're not into that, don't read lol!

Bill Denbrough sat at the edge of his bed. With his curtains drawn shut, his door locked, and his sketchbook long forgotten beside him, he sat in overwhelming silence. It roared in his ear like a waterfall crashing into the stream below it. Constant, loud… it almost felt shattering. 

He wasn’t sure why he locked his door. It wasn’t like his parents were going to come in anyways. They stopped checking on him a long time ago. Hell, these days Bill felt like his parents forgot he even exists. It was like they mentally went back to a time where they hadn’t had kids. Because God forbid they no longer had their nuclear family. God forbid their remaining son be good enough in the slightest bit. God forbid they had to deal with him at all.

God forbid Bill Denbrough even existed. 

Even through his curtains, Bill could hear the harsh pattering of the rain smacking against his windows. Just like the day Georgie went missing. Bill used to love the rain. The way that it made everything feel new and clean and everything smelt nice. But now, all he could think about is the little boy in the yellow raincoat waving from the street when he saw even a single drop fall from the sky.

He knew it was his fault. He was supposed to be watching Georgie, making sure he was safe. He knew Georgie should not have gone outside alone, but at the time, all Bill could think about was being alone. His little brother would not leave him alone and he just needed rest since he literally felt like he was dying from his ailment that day. But little did he know, that feeling would never go away. 

Bill looked towards the sketchbook laying on the bed next to him. Vivid tufts of red hair and a sinister, drooly smile were illustrated on the page. The face that haunted him in his nightmares and lingered in his daydreams. It often felt like the others had forgotten about It, but he couldn’t, no matter how hard he tried.

He sometimes wished Richie and the rest of the Losers would’ve just let It take him. He wouldn’t have to live with the guilt of Georgie’s death, he wouldn’t have to watch as his parents couldn’t even look him in the eye… he wouldn’t have to live with himself. Sure, It would have inflicted a strange, painful death upon him, but sometimes Bill felt like he deserved it. 

Bill let out a sigh, a sigh that shattered the silence in the room, making it fall apart like pieces of broken glass. But what was the broken glass in this situation? Was it Bill? He often felt like broken glass that couldn’t and would never be put back together. It was almost symbolic. The fading mark in his palm was created by broken glass, and maybe since that moment, broken glass had become a part of him.

He pushed his sketchbook off the bed. The sound of it thumping to the ground echoed throughout his empty room. His room had once been littered with posters and pictures of his friends and family, but now was stripped bare. Whenever he had looked at his walls, he was filled with this… ache… and one day the ache just hurt so bad that he had tore everything down in a flurry of manic. And now the result of that manic laid under his bed in a box to never be touched again. 

Bill flopped down on his comforter and scooted up the bed slightly. Right as he aimed to reach for his Walkman that rested on his bedside table, his mother’s voice boomed into the room.

“Bill! Beverly Marsh is on the phone!” his mother yelled from downstairs. He could see it now, the off white landline rested on her chest to somehow muffle her own voice as she yelled up to her son. Her red hair, similar to his own, pulled into a pristine ponytail and a pinched look resting on her face. That look seemed more permanent than ever. 

“C-C-Coming!” Bill yelled from his position on his bed. He willed himself to get off his bed, knowing that the consequence of ignoring his mother was far worse than the one extra minute of the safe haven that was his bed.

He trudged across his room and made his way down the stairs towards the living room. From the living room, he made it into the dining room, where the telephone was. 

His mother gave Bill a once over before handing the phone off to her son.

“Change your shirt when your done, Bill. You look like a slob.” And with that, she walked off. He knew her statement came from a good place, but he did not see the point of looking presentable when he was only going to lock himself up in his room for yet another day.

“H-Hello?” Bill asked into the phone. He leaned lazily against the wall as he held the phone up to his ear with two hands.

“Hi Bill,” Beverly replied. Beverly rarely called anymore, her life in Portland having picked up. People really liked her there, she had lots of friends… making the Losers lower and lower on her priority list. 

“B-Beverly, hi.”

“How are you?”

“I’m-I’m d-doing great,” Bill lied, biting his lip afterwards. Don’t get him wrong, he could lie when it mattered, but he found he really couldn’t lie to Beverly.

“Okay,” she said softly. Bill knew that she knew he was lying. “I talked to Stanley yesterday.”

“Oh.”

“He said he hasn’t seen you in days.”

“H-He saw me in E-English y-y-yesterday.”

“You know what I mean, Bill.” He sadly knew what she meant. He may or may not have not eaten with the Losers this past week, in favor of lingering in his class before lunch and arriving to his class after lunch far too early. His teachers didn’t take much notice to this. Or if they did, they didn’t say anything about it, nor did they question it. He hadn’t met up with his friends after school either.

“Is everything okay?” Beverly asked. Bill sighed and closed his eyes. “You can talk to me.”

“I’m f-fine, j-j-just s-stressed over a p-p-p-project, th-that’s all.”

“That’s a bullshit excuse.”

“It’s t-t-t-the truth.”

“It’s not though.”

“How w-w-would you even kn-know!”

“Because I asked Stan and he said you guys had nothing going on at school. Double checked with Eddie as well. Plus your stutter gets worse when you try to pull this shit with me,” Bev replied. “So, just talk to me, Bill. It will help both of us.”

“You w-wouldn’t unders-s-stand,” Bill whispered. He slumped further into the wall, almost curling in on himself. He felt small and defeated. He knew Beverly was just trying to help, but all he wanted to do was go back to his room and lay down. 

He had his cycle down-- go to bed, try to forget, draw his frustrations, write about how he was frustrated he couldn’t draw, try to forget his frustrations, fall asleep. This would just repeat and repeat. It was tiring, but he was comfortable. Adding the pressures of pleasing people and faking his laughter and smiles just felt like the tip of the iceberg these days. Hence why he avoided his friends this week. 

He felt more secure on his own… he didn’t think his friends would understand how defeated he felt. He was always the unsaid leader of the group and what would happen if the leader couldn’t lead? He didn’t want to find out, so he thought it would be easier to just… disappear. 

“Try me,” Beverly challenged. 

“D-Do you ever w-wish B-B-Ben never w-woke you up?”

“I’ve thought about what would’ve happened if he didn’t,” Bev responded earnestly after a beat. “But, no, I’m glad I’m still kickin’.”

“T-That’s good.”

“Yeah…” she responded, hesitance littering her voice. “Do you… Do you wish we left you down there? With It?”

Bill gulped, tightening his grip on the phone. He never vocalized his feelings about the situation before. “I-I would’ve b-been w-w-w-with Geor-Georgie…” 

“Oh Bill…” 

“It d-d-doesn’t m-matter what I think, t-though,” Bill added quickly. “I’m st-still h-h-here.”

“What you feel does matter,” Beverly responded softly. He could hear her adjust the phone to her ear, bringing the speaker closer to her face. “I’m happy you’re still here. We all are. You’re Bill Denbrough for fuck’s sake! Who knows what would’ve happened to Derry if it weren’t for you.”

“H-He still would’ve been h-here if I-I was n-never born,” Bill whispered. Bill’s lip quivered as he anxiously eyed the room. He needed to get out of the open space as soon as possible. He felt too vulnerable standing in the kitchen, out in the open, where either of his parents could step in at any given moment and wonder what the fuck was wrong with their son. He felt like an idiot. “Listen, I g-gotta go, I-I’ll t-talk to you s-s-soon, Beverly.”

“Wait, Bill, will you be-” Bill had slammed the phone back onto its holder. He ran his hands down his face as he turned on his heel and made his way back through the living room, up the stairs, and back to his room. 

He shakily laid back down in his bed, pulling the covers tightly around his long, thin frame. His heart felt heavy as his mind moved faster than his numb limbs ever dreamed of going. He felt so fucking numb, yet he felt too fucking much. He felt everything and nothing all at once. His face felt hot and sticky from the concoction of tears and sweat brewing on his skin.

The door was locked, the windows were shut, the curtains were drawn tight. The air was still and everything felt empty, and so did Bill.

As Bill Denbrough laid in the dark, his erratic breathing mellowing to deep, slow breaths, he wondered if he’d ever feel full again.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't really read many fics that deal with this concept, so I wanted to give a crack at it. Let me know what you think!!


End file.
